


Owned

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Light Bondage, Power Dynamics, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26296039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Kathryn comes back to her boytoy.
Relationships: Kathryn Janeway/Harry Kim
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Owned

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

She can synthesize fresh coffee in her quarters. The cup Neelix gives her in the mess hall is technically _fresher_ —made from _real_ beans, though alien: nothing like she’d have on Earth, and it naturally tastes cream-filled even though she always takes it black. But she went more for the walk than coffee. The hallways are quieter during gamma shift, most of the crew asleep, less around to tense up and salute at her passing. Maybe she wanted that. Maybe she needed a moment amidst other people trapped in her same plight, more relaxed at the pseudo-late hour, lounging in chairs and idly moving Neelix’s latest work around their plates. She watches an ensign rub his foot along the leg of a lieutenant, and even that brings her some ease. It was inevitable. They’ve been lost too long to all stay _chaste_.

They pretend they’re prim and proper when she wanders right past them, but then she’s alone in the corridor and knows plenty of her people are flirting in her wake. She walks at the same clipped, purposeful pace as always, the familiar guilt settling in her stomach. Maybe she should just call it off. But she can’t seem to take that step, and then she’s right outside her quarters, sucking in her breath. She gets too much credit for being _strong_. She has as much doubts as anyone. 

Mark has to have moved on by now. She knows that. She nears the doors, and they scan and open for her, slipping seamlessly apart. She marches through like she owns the place, like she owns the entire world, because within the confines of _Voyager_ , she does. 

She rounds on the large, comfortable living space afforded to the captain, and there he is, waiting for her: Ensign Harry Kim, kneeling down beside her reading chair, as naked as the day that he was born. 

There’s a moment where Kathryn’s breath betrays her. She hesitates, pausing to let her pulse quicken and her eyes rake over him—all his pale skin, fully exposed under the brilliant light of the passing stars. His arms are drawn behind his back, wrists bound together in simple cuffs. His legs are folded with his feet tucked under his plump rear, his genitals pulled back between them—she catches the faint glint of metal around his tight sac. The bindings are a small but emphatic touch: one more sign of her absolute power over him. Yet she reminds herself that he came to her quarters of his own volition. He put those ties on himself. He knelt for her, exposed himself for her, because he wants this every bit as much as she does—lord knows he moans it every time that they make love. His gratitude and adoration spill over her in waves. He’s pledged those three little words to her more often than Starfleet one, and he’s incredibly dutiful. He glances over his shoulder, his dark eyes are dilated, thick with the same lust that torments her. He’s _gorgeous._

He’s _hers_. In too many ways. It’s unethical. If they were home now, this would never be allowed. _But they’re not._ The delta quadrant changes everything. It doesn’t matter anymore if he’s far younger than her, of a far lower rank, and so very vulnerable. He consented to it. He came to her first. And besides, he’s just so very _pretty_ that she couldn’t possibly refuse. It doesn’t hurt that he’s always so eager to please—his head lolls back, cheeks flushed and lips parted, a single strand of neatly-brushed black hair tumbling across his forehead. He looks desperate for her. But he obediently stays quiet until spoken to, because Harry Kim is a good officer first and a brilliant lover second.

Kathryn forces herself to move on. She knows he likes that—when she’s bold and stern. She marches past him without a word, turning into her bedroom, letting the doors close behind her, denying him the privilege of watching. Maybe a small part of her is self conscious—her body isn’t what it used to be, and surely he knows that there are younger, tauter, lovelier women on the ship. He never seems to have any complaint with her body. She changes into her nightgown swiftly and efficiently. The pink silk dress is one of the few off-duty clothes she owns. When she spots herself in the mirror, she can’t help a quick inspection. It reminds her to let down her hair. A single hand threads through it, but not a brush—maybe she should, but doesn’t want to waste the time. She remembers the broad expanse of Harry’s shoulders and the lean lines of his back. A shiver runs through her—it’s been far too long. 

She’s denied herself too much. She could be satisfied every night if she wanted to. Harry could certainly take it. He’d certainly agree. He comes running to her quarters every time she asks—a single _look_ on the bridge, and he nods, surrendering his whole self with one open expression. She knows she’s a lucky woman. 

She walks out to him, allowing her hand to fall into his hair—it’s so _soft_. A light scratch of her blunt fingertips along his scalp, and he’s actually trembling, dark lashes fluttering against his cheek as he lets out a quiet groan. He’s so _easy_. 

She takes her seat in the chair, hand trailing down to his cheek, cupping it gently before she grasps his chin. Thumb against the supple dart in his lower lip, she commands, “Safeword, Ensign.” She always has to be absolutely _sure_.

He reverently murmurs, “Alpha.” 

With a nod, she tangles her fist in his hair again. Then she spreads her legs and drags him between them, puttering her loyal lover properly to work.


End file.
